Another Heart Calls
by the moon and the stars
Summary: This raw, brutal honesty he makes a habit of showing me… it's a weakness. Mine, not his. Because every single time he gives me a glimpse of this side of him, it's like a punch to the gut, reminding me there's a man beneath the monster. That part of him is human. If only he'd stop proving me right. / A distraught Caroline seeks out our favorite hybrid in NOLA. Klaroline. Post-5x05.
1. Denial

**Another Heart Calls**

**Summary: **This raw, brutal honesty he makes a habit of showing me… it's a weakness. Mine, not his. Because every single time he gives me a glimpse of this side of him, it's like a punch to the gut, reminding me there's a man beneath the monster. That part of him is human. If only he'd stop proving me right. / A distraught Caroline seeks out our favorite hybrid in NOLA. Klaroline. Post-5x05.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. If anything, Klaroline owns _me_. Or at least my soul. Contains spoilers up through TVD 5x05.

**Rating: **T for some mild cursing. No big deal.

**Chapter Lyrics**: "Escape" by Hoobastank.

**A/N: **Consider this my version of Klaroline therapy in the wake of the (IMO, inevitable) Forwood breakup. I know this is a bit after-the-fact, but better late than never, right?

Truth is, I've actually had the first two chapters mostly written for a while now, but as always, real life got in the way of me posting anything. I've moved and started a new job, and I've just been generally tired and distracted ever since. But THEN I saw that wonderful, all-too-brief Klaroline teaser in the 5x11 promo, and that seriously lit a fire under my ass to get back to writing. So voila, here you go!

Anywho, a few quick notes before we begin our journey: This fic isn't exactly TO compliant, so the whole hybrid showdown (aka Tyler's idiotic kamikaze mission in New Orleans) doesn't exist. Also, fair warning: it's about to get emotional up in here, folks. Caroline's reaction to the breakup (among other things) is a bit all over the place. I did this intentionally. She's going to think, say, and do some things that you might not like or agree with (hell, I don't and I wrote her that way). Hopefully I explain her mindset in a way that it's all within character, but just in case… ye have been warned.

Apologies for any typos… I edited this at lightning speed.

Now on with the main event!

* * *

><p><em>There has to be somewhere that we can be safe from the lives we live each day<br>There has to be somewhere that we can be far away…_

* * *

><p><strong>Part 1: Denial<strong>

Not one hour after Tyler left Whitmore, left _me_ – for good, this time – I hit the road. And I don't look back.

Okay, that's a total lie. Since I began this crazy, half-baked cross-country trek, I second guessed myself about thirty-seven times and that number is still rising. I mean, it's hardly newsworthy that I don't wear impulsive well. My padded resume of perfectly planned town functions and (undiagnosed) control-freak neuroses will certainly testify to that fact. Besides, I do _not_ run away. Like, ever. It's just not in the Caroline Forbes DNA.

Which is why it's pretty easy to talk myself into this little field trip of mine. See, I'm not skipping town to leave my problems behind (unlike a certain ex-boyfriend I don't care to mention); I'm doing this to _fix_ them. One of them, at least – the one I _can_ fix.

The fact that I also happen to be dodging the cesspool of Mystic Falls drama – Silas, the latest and creepiest of apocalyptic psychopaths; the never-ending (and nauseating) Damon-and-Elena chronicles; an amnesiac best friend, and another who's freaking _dead_ – yeah. Ditching all that is just the cherry on top of the shitty sundae that is my life.

God, I need a vacation. I guess driving the highway to hell will have to suffice. Speaking of which…

Oh, God. This plan… it is _never_ going to work. What the hell am I thinking?

It's my only option – _that's_ what I'm thinking. Ugh.

The taste of copper floods my mouth, and I realize belatedly that I'm mangling my lip out of sheer anxiety.

I sigh, forcing my jaw to unclench. He'll be okay, I tell myself. He'll come home. He'll come back to me, someday. Somehow I don't doubt this; I just can't. My sanity hinges on it.

(And yet, as evidenced by the fact that I'm indulging the voices warring in my head like a side-show freak, I already lost my marbles somewhere back in my dorm room.)

I shake my head, dispelling the traitorous thoughts. That isn't what this trip is about. This isn't about getting Tyler back. This is about something much more important. Something impossible…

No. This _will_ work. It has to. I won't give up – I can't just let – I mean, he can't –

Okay. Relax. Breeeath, Caroline.

And I do. Over and over, in, out, in, out, until Freak Out #38 finally passes. I feel the tension slowly leave my shoulders and I relax my vise-grip on the steering wheel, confident that I won't pop a wheelie from pulling a ill-advised U-turn going 85 mph down the highway. I pull it together. No harm done. Crisis averted.

Once I finally cross the Virginia border, my doubts thankfully all but disappear. This is good. It's strangely liberating, this feeling, jetting out on my own for the first time. It is even – dare I say it – a bit of a thrill. I am actually driving towards the one place I shouldn't go in a million trillion years. Towards the one person I shouldn't see, let alone trust, to help me out of yet another jam.

As I stifle what I'm sure will be the first of many yawns, I automatically reach for my caffeine fix. At least not _every_ neuron of mine misfired tonight, and I shelved my grief long enough to cover my bases before skipping town. Along with grabbing my overnight bag (yes, the one meant for quality time with the boyfriend in his single's dorm) and scribbling a hasty note for Elena, I remembered to tap into my coffee stash I originally earmarked for finals week all-night cram sessions. I am definitely going to need the pick-me-up. Lucky for me, vampires don't require sleep quite as often as humans, but we do need to recharge our batteries like every other semi-living creature out there. I can only hope that when I finally reach my destination tomorrow I'm not a total zombie.

I yawn again, wincing as I glance at the clock. The bright red numbers seem to mock me. Twelve hours and eighteen minutes to go. Yikes.

I'm not even an hour into my journey, and already I'm lamenting my decision to veto flying. It's not like I can't afford (or compel) the plane ticket, but driving seemed like the better option at the time. There was something about clutching the steering wheel and bearing down on the accelerator _just so_ that satisfied my need for control. Plus, the added hours on the road give me plenty of time to think ahead and plan my speech. It has to be a damn good one.

Fast forward to _now_, though, and I immediately recognize the flaw in my logic. All the time in the world isn't going to give me the words to say to the man I really had no intention of seeing again. For another century, anyway.

But rather than looking ahead, to the trouble still to come, all I can think about is what – _who_ – I left behind, which is so completely annoying – _he_ left _me_, for God's sakes, not the other way around – that next thing I know, I'm screaming and screaming until my throat burns and my breath comes hard and fast.

A quick glance at the horrified driver on my left tells me that I look every bit the deranged wild animal that I feel. I urge my little Ford Fiesta faster, and she purrs in compliance as I leave that judgmental face in my dust.

Freak Out #39? Check.

I keep my eyes locked on the road ahead of me, not looking back. I'm Caroline Forbes, for crying out loud. I _will _fix this.

Good thing I only have twelve hours, fourteen minutes to go.

* * *

><p>It is with heavy eyelids and a curse on my tongue that I greet the stinging rays of mid-afternoon sun from the cramped quarters of my car's back seat.<p>

I believe it was at some point between hours nine and ten that my caffeine buzz wore off and I finally had enough. I pulled off onto the shoulder somewhere around Hell-If-I-Know-Where-I-Am, Mississippi and managed to catch a few hours of uncomfortable shut-eye. Although I would have gladly slept in a tin can if it meant I could take a break from driving down this boring, endless stretch of concrete. And it would have been a nice nap if not for the intrusive _tap-tap-tap_ on my window, courtesy of a nosy state trooper who decided the universe hasn't screwed me over enough today.

Now, being a sheriff's daughter, I'm a little more sympathetic to law enforcers and "the rules." But not that time. My candle was burning hot and fast at both ends, and it was all I could do not to lunge at the poor woman, tap the thickest artery, and take and take until I fully replenished myself like a good little creature of the night.

If there's one thing I'm thankful for today – and that is a short, short list, believe me – it's that I had enough sense to simply send her on her way, unharmed and freshly compelled. Still, that reminds me…

I grab a bag of B positive from the cooler in my truck, stretching my aching limbs in the process, and then I'm back on the road, wheels in motion again. I can feel the energy humming through my body, and it fuels my determination. I am _so_ close to my destination, to my goal, that I can already taste victory, and it's almost as sweet as the blood on my tongue.

The next couple of hours, though, prove my triumph to be a bit premature. Even given the low bar by which I'm measuring this trip, the scenery does nothing to impress. And it all blurs by at such a sluggish pace, and seriously, I've seen biology documentaries in class that entertained me more than this drive.

But the time does pass, thank goodness, and I finally see the mile marker pointing me to my salvation. I am only four miles away from Creole Country, which means it's about time for Phase 2 of the debacle that is My Plan.

I whip out my phone and dial the one number I swear I'd never call again. I suppose I should be grateful he decides to pick up this time.

"Caroline," the lyrical voice greets me on the other end. "Dare I ask which of your friends was unfortunate enough to find themselves on the wrong end of a werewolf bite this time?"

Though tempted to retort, I cut right to the chase. "Are you busy right now?"

"Can't say my life has been boring as of late, but for you, I always have time to spare." I roll my eyes at the obvious display of charm – some things never change – and yet, somehow, I can tell he picks up on my urgency. Good.

"I need to talk to you. It's… important. Please tell me the locals haven't wised up and chased you out of the bayou just yet."

Pause. "You're headed _here_?"

"No, I'm not headed here. I _am_ here," I correct him absently, watching the _Welcome to Louisiana!_ sign fly by my window. "Well, almost."

"Sweetheart, not that I don't find your company a pleasant surprise, believe me – " I wait for the inevitable _but_, and he doesn't disappoint " – but you _really_ shouldn't be here."

I perk up at change in his voice. He sounds… worried? Mildly alarmed, even? Honestly, he's reminding me a bit of this character I watched on a soap the other day – you know, one of those cheating husband types who tries to stall his ignorant wife from coming home early before he can stash away his mistress. The comparison is so ridiculous I almost laugh out loud.

"These days, New Orleans doesn't exactly roll out the welcome mat for outsiders of the… supernatural persuasion."

His explanation leaves a lot to be desired, but I'll put a pin in that until later.

"Ooh, intrigue. Sounds like you're making friends all over the place," I tease. This time I actually do laugh a little.

"I'm serious, Caroline. Much as I'd enjoy a visit from you, this isn't a good idea."

Apparently my good humor isn't contagious – a red flag if there ever is one, because this guy never _ever_ passes up an opportunity to flirt with me. I mean, I'm not exactly proud of it, but his predictability in that regard is pretty much the only edge Team Mystic Falls ever had on him. Sad, but true.

I should feel relieved, but instead I'm just weirded out. Because Charming Klaus? _That_ guy I can handle. I was sort of counting on him, actually. Much better negotiator.

What I _can't_ handle is this new, unhelpful personality he picked the worst time to test-drive, leaving me with an empty gas tank and absolutely nothing to show for it.

That isn't how this story ends.

"Are you kidding me?" I shoot back. "After you practically begged me to come away with you, you're actually telling me to get lost?"

I take care to sound as frustrated and wounded as possible, and lord help me, it isn't even hard.

I hear him sigh; can almost picture his jaw clenching as he fights against himself. "That isn't – "

"Then there's no problem, is there?"

Eek. Even I'm offended by how bitchy I sound, but it can't be helped. I can't play the doe-eyed damsel like Elena, or the calm peacemaker like Bonnie. I'm _me_; I have my own weapons at my disposal. And right now I need to push past this newly erected wall of his the only way I know how.

And by the silence that answers me, I can tell I've nearly won. The battle, at least. I am a far cry from winning the war.

"Love," he finally says, stretching the syllable out. It conveys a patience I don't feel. "Why don't you explain to me just what is so dire that you came nearly a thousand miles out of your way to see me?"

In this instant, I don't know what to say. I really don't. I had a plan, but now the reality of actually acting on it – the reality of this whole damn situation – comes crashing down on me so hard that I nearly cry out in panic. I don't, though. I somehow hold it together.

But apparently my struggle isn't lost on Klaus, and I really hate that he knows me so well through a freaking _phone_.

"What's wrong, Caroline?"

His sincerity leaves me aching to tell him everything. God, it would be so much easier to list what _isn't _wrong in my life, and how sad is that? I swear, if I didn't have my mother to lean on, and if I didn't have first-hand knowledge of how devastating a vampire with a flipped switch could be, I might be tempted to try a few years as a robo-vamp myself. I mean, seriously.

Point is, I have reasons to feel broken. Real, legitimate, soul-crushing reasons. I could tell him Bonnie's dead, Stefan doesn't know me, everyone else pretty much ditched me, and oh yeah, there's still the issue of an ancient, indestructible immortal wreaking havoc on my hometown. Sound familiar?

But instead what comes out is infinitely weaker compared to the rest and makes me feel far more pathetic to voice. But it's the one thing I know will do the trick.

"Tyler and I are over." I pause for emphasis, savoring his stunned silence. "So once you wrap your head around that, tell me where I can meet you because I'm not leaving this city until you do. I'll be there in thirty minutes."

* * *

><p>Actually, I'm there in twenty-three. (Impatience can be a real bitch, and my foot shows no mercy on the gas pedal.) Although why Klaus wants to meet <em>here<em> of all places is beyond me.

He gave me some vague spiel about the heart of the city being a hotbed for dangerous activity nowadays, it's not safe for me, and blah blah blah. Honestly, I'm more than a little dubious how any spot on the globe can draw more crazies than Mystic Falls, but I didn't push him for an explanation. It doesn't serve my agenda, and I can't afford to take my eyes off the prize. Especially now that it's within reach.

Only a couple minutes after I cross Lake Pontchartrain at the outskirts of New Orleans, I find the little hideaway he specified once I pull off from the Interstate and make a few quick turns. I imagine it isn't that hard to find if you're a local, but to my foreign eyes, one marshy patch is just as good as the next, so thank goodness for clear skies and my GPS.

Killing the engine, I'm slow to exit my vehicle as I take in the view. Now that I see it, it's a pretty spectacular one, if not a bit unbelievable.

Because what I'm looking at is a freaking _castle_. Literally. In the Louisiana marshes, of all places.

Although I'll admit, it isn't anything like those giant, grandiose works of art you see in period dramas and European travel books. It's abandoned for starters, if the obvious state of disrepair is anything to go by. Plus, there are no flags, lavish turrets, or embellishments of any sort. This one's just a simple little thing: a stark-white modern marvel no bigger than the size of my house back home; taller, yes, but not really any bigger. The rook-shaped main tower comprises nearly half of the entire building and stretches up no more than three stories, tops, while on the opposite side of the upper parapet sits a much smaller tower with a black conical-shaped spire.

Oh, don't look so surprised. I might be a bubbly blonde with cheerleading credentials, but I was also valedictorian, thank you very much, and hey, _someone_ had to pay attention when Ric used to ramble on and on about medieval architecture in history class.

With a quick sweep of my eyes I count at least six arched windows encased in wrought-iron bars that fleck the entire structure, and at the main gate is… is that actually a drawbridge? Seriously? With no moat? Although, I am surrounded by plenty of marshland…

Okay, seriously, why the hell did Klaus drag me here? This place seems so… un-him. Then again, maybe that's the point. Maybe he doesn't want anyone to know he's here, meeting someone. Maybe he doesn't want anyone to know he's meeting _me_, in particular. Maybe there really is some crazy-dangerous situation going on in his little kingdom that requires clandestine meetings outside his jurisdiction for my protection. Or maybe it's the other way around, and I'm like this lowly small town girl that would cramp _his majesty's_ style.

Shaking my head, I abandon my Fiesta in favor of walking off some of my pent-up frustration. Mud clings to my boots with every step, but I hardly take notice as I start exploring the castle up close. I'm sure for a worldly, billion-year-old like Klaus, this sight isn't anything special. But for someone like me, a baby vampire whose idea of a vacation destination is one of the neighboring towns of Mystic Falls, it's anything but mundane. It's… something quite incredible. But it's only upon closer inspection that I catch all the little reasons why.

Like the way the white exterior is riddled with imperfections – battle wounds – that conceal untold stories. Like the way the entire structure sits slightly crooked on its foundation, adding character to this little diamond in the rough. Like the way that, even though it has obviously seen better days, it stands strong and proud amidst the marshlands, capable of weathering through any storm. Like the way it feels so… lonely here, out on its own. Like it's forgotten. Misplaced, even. And yet, for all its flaws, it seems perfect to me.

_Genuine beauty._

Huh. Maybe this castle suits Klaus, after all. They do share some common features… except for the part about being perfect. Definitely not that part.

It's then that the wind changes, and I can sense him. Well, _smell_ him. Apparently, you can't just tap the vein of the most potent blood source on the planet (twice now) and forget that alluring scent… no matter how much I wish I could. But there are very few things stronger than the bonds of blood, and for my life's payment, I'll always know his.

I turn around slowly, deliberately, and I zero in on the form hovering just beneath the portcullis of the castle. Watching me.

When he emerges from the shadows with the casual elegance of a feline, I don't even have the energy to berate him for making me work so hard just to get him to meet me. My patience is shot to hell and quite frankly, he's a sight for sore eyes.

Because the plan's back in motion. That's the reason. Obviously.

It's only when he speaks –

"I suppose it's too much to hope," he begins conversationally, a smile tugging at his lips, "that you put the poor pup out of his misery when you cut him loose?"

– that my thirteen hours and twenty-one minutes of strategizing goes right out the window.

Flashing over to his side, I return his smile ten-fold… with my fist.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** And there's part one! I admit, I was in a snarky mood when I wrote this, but it sort of works to my advantage, I think. Poor Caroline has a lot on her plate, what with her emotions going crazy and her all-night drive, so she definitely needs to blow off some steam. Which she will definitely do… starting next chapter.

For those who are interested, Fisherman's Castle is a real place on the Irish Bayou in Louisiana, but I've taken some liberties for my own convenience – the biggest of which is that this castle is _not_ abandoned like I wrote, but has passed to several different owners since its construction. It's an impressive-looking structure (I recommend googling it for pictures), and I never knew this place existed until I stumbled across it on the internet and happened to think it made a nice backdrop for this fic. Apologies for my ignorant use of castle terminology – I tried.

This is my first attempt at writing first person POV, so if you have any tips for me I'd love to hear them.

And FYI, this is part one of _five_, so we're just getting started. Hope to see you all back for part two!


	2. Anger

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Contains spoilers up through TVD 5x05.

**Chapter Lyrics**: "The Voice" by The Moody Blues. Freaking LOVE that song.

**A/N:** Wow! I am blown away by the support for this fic! Seriously, you guys are the best. I hope this part lives up to your expectations.

On another note, anyone else still reeling from TVD lately? Holy cow. If anyone's interested, I took a short break from this story to write a Klaroline one-shot following THE events of 5x11… hence the lateness of this chapter. Apparently I'm easily distracted, as I'm working on yet another one-shot which I hope to post soon. I'm going to remain tight-lipped about that for now, though. Don't want to jinx it ;)

Brace yourselves for the beginning of the emotional roller coaster, folks. I'll admit that I was pretty tired when I edited this, so forgive me for any mistakes. I just wanted to post this for you guys ASAP. Enjoy Part 2!

* * *

><p><em>With your arms around the future <em>

_And your back up against the past  
><em>

_You're already falling _

_It's calling you on to face the music_

* * *

><p><strong>Part 2: Anger<strong>

Let me just state for the record that my break in sanity was _not_ part of my plan.

But as pain explodes in my knuckles from their collision with a certain hybrid's hard head, my rage transforms into triumph. Add to that the look of pure shock on his face? Score one for Caroline Forbes' ego. Hell, this is almost as euphoric as the taste of his blood.

…Shut _up_.

Recovering quickly, Klaus straightens up, and rather than the Mr. Hyde sideshow I'm expecting, he just throws me a roguish grin. Damnit, he's actually _enjoying_ this. And why wouldn't he? In his world, violence probably equals foreplay.

"I must admit, given your new status as a free woman and your urgency to see me, I had hoped for a different sort of reunion altogether," he admits behind the hand currently massaging his jaw, and I cannot hold back my scoff. He's the Original freaking hybrid, for crying out loud – the most powerful creature on the planet (his words, not mine). There's no way I, a one-year-old baby vampire, can actually cause enough damage to hurt him. Physically, I mean.

"Which begs the question," he continues, abandoning his injury, "Why go to all the trouble of meeting me if this is the sort of greeting you planned?"

_Plan_. Oh God, mine's unraveling before it's even begun. I'm not supposed to be this unstable. I need to be in complete control.

But Klaus always has his way of testing my limits.

Before I can even ponder how to rectify the situation, he's speaking again.

"Unless hostility _is_ the point of this little endeavor." He peaks at me through thick lashes, and the darkness there matches the roughness of his voice. "Perhaps you need an outlet for your suffering. Perhaps you came all this way just to lay blame at my door for the lackluster revival of your high school romance. Perhaps it's because I make such a convenient scapegoat for Tyler Lockwood's long list of shortcomings. How am I doing, love? Am I close?"

I grit my teeth. I'm already annoyed with his cavalier attitude, but when he sneers Tyler's name, salting my raw, gaping wound – that's when I snap.

"This is your fault. Everything is your fault!"

He merely shrugs off my (admittedly ultrasonic) accusation. "It's possible. I've done a lot of _terrible things_, as you never fail to remind me. But as much as I'd like to take credit for them all, I'm afraid I can't help you without more information."

I stomp my foot. Like a freaking five-year-old, and I admit; not my proudest moment. "Don't you dare poke fun at this!"

"I don't even know what _this_ is, as you've been too busy throwing your tantrum to inform me," he volleys back, sounding for the first time as frustrated as I feel. About time.

The gap between us disappears quickly, the degraded floorboards of the drawbridge creaking ominously beneath his boots, until we're practically nose-to-nose, and hello! Personal space, much?

"Care to shed some light on the matter, Caroline?" It's not a request.

Welcome to Klaus Intimidation 101, folks. Not exactly subtle.

Good thing I'm too pissed to buckle. "You know, for one single second, I actually thought he and I had a chance to get it right. You were out of our lives, we were finally together again, we were _happy_ – "

"I really don't need a play-by-play, love – "

" – and then he left me! Because of _you_!"

Harsh, but fair, I think. Klaus might not be directly responsible for my relationship drama, but he undoubtedly set events in motion. No matter which way I spin it – and believe me, I had plenty of time to mull it over on the ride over – it always comes back to him. Every. Freaking. Time.

'_Do you know the reason we're together?' _Tyler asked me just last night. It's a scene that's haunted me ever since.

In the instant that followed, I let myself remember everything. All the reasons why Tyler and I just _fit_.

I remembered the night he accidentally killed Sarah; that horrified, faraway look in his eyes when he realized how much he truly lost that night – his innocence, his freedom, his future. The night I took it upon myself to pick up the pieces of his shattered life. The night that, despite growing up together, we truly _saw_ each other for the first time.

I remembered the almost comical way he accosted me in my own home, how he actually accused me of being a _werewolf_, of all the ridiculous things. How I proved him wrong, and showed an outsider who (_what_) I really was for the first time. How I promised he would never have to be alone, the way I was after I was turned (_'Vampires don't have enough problems, you want to take on mine?'_). How he inevitably returned the favor, and I found myself a friend for life.

I remembered his agonized screams as his body ripped itself apart from the inside out, our sweat mingling together as I wrapped my whole body around his, desperate to contain the beast. To comfort him during the worst night of his life, even though it meant risking my own, simply because I couldn't bear the thought of leaving him.

I remembered the butterflies (more like pterodactyls) I felt when he kissed me for the first time (_'Everyone just needs to stop kissing me!'_). I remembered the tequila, the unexpected jealousy, the freaking _fireworks_ on the dance floor the first time our kiss really meant something. Something _epic_. Because it led to the beginning of our love story.

Apparently, though, none of _those_ reasons made the cut for Tyler. His single-minded answer floored me, in devastating fashion.

'_Because Klaus granted us _permission_ to be together.'_

Silly me, I thought it was because we, you know, _cared _about each other, but whatever.

'_I'm sorry, but I can't live like that.'_

Not can't – _won't_! Because even with his newfound freedom, he's still Tyler Lockwood through and through. He's still that loyal, proud, _stubborn_ man fueled by his convictions, by his insatiable need to even the score, and nothing I do can change that. Change _him_.

And you know what? I'm not even sure I want to. Because that jackass just happens to be the man I fell in love with, flaws and all.

But this revenge-obsessed Klaus Clone he's turning into? Entirely a product of the man in front of me.

Klaus takes a calculated step back, yet I still feel bathed in his quiet fury. "So. I was right. You feel owed something, and now you're here to collect. You'll forgive me if I don't simply roll over and take it." His words are so sharp I'm surprised I don't bleed. "Let me be clear, love. Tyler's sins are entirely his own. He is no longer sired to me, as you both take great pleasure in reminding me; therefore, I am no longer responsible for whatever foolish actions tarnish that golden halo of his."

He pauses as if something just occurs to him. "And as if that isn't enough, this past spring I granted him complete and total freedom from my influence. Not that he deserved it," he adds scathingly. "And if this is all the thanks I am to expect for my gift, Caroline, then I'm inclined to believe that you didn't deserve it either."

"I'm sorry, your _what_?" I manage through my disbelief. "A person's freedom isn't some kind of peace offering or a… a _gift_, Klaus. You can't give me what you never had, and Tyler never belonged to you."

His lips twist arrogantly. "Don't tell that to me, sweetheart. Tell that to the boy who repeatedly chose to flee – without inviting you along, I might add – rather than face my judgment. That doesn't sound like someone living independently of my will."

Ugh. I hate that he's right. And I really hate that maybe, just maybe, Tyler was right, too. He can't stomach the idea of living in Klaus' debt, knowing that every single day he walks this earth is only by the _mercy_ of the person he hates most in the world. The person who took everything from him: his mortality, his independence, his hybrid comrades, his mother, and now, apparently, _me_. Even if the latter is only a side effect of his own stubbornness.

Klaus might have given him his life back, but that mockery of freedom isn't living; hell, that's barely surviving. Some gift, right?

"Why did you even let him come back, Klaus?" I toss out, exasperated. "Was it because you already knew he wouldn't stick around? That he'd eventually get sick of living under your thumb and take off? Leave me behind so you could swoop in and take his place?"

All rhetorical, of course; honestly, I'm just in prime venting mode and like he pointed out, he makes a damn convenient target. But the way his eyes flicker and his upper body stiffens – so subtly only my vamp-vision could detect it – makes me realize I just inadvertently hit the mark.

"Oh my God. That's it, isn't it?"

The glare he gives me is all the warning I need.

So, true to form, I ignore it. "That whole performance at graduation… pretending you were doing us this huge favor, letting Tyler off the hook, trying to come off as some sort of white knight… Like you have the right! God, how could I have been so _stupid_?" I shake my head, bewildered. "Wow, even I have to admit, you're good."

His eyes flash. "Now wait a second – "

"But this whole time," I surge forward, latching onto my theory like Damon with a bottle of bourbon, "you were just planting the seed of our break up, weren't you? You knew! You knew that as soon as you gave Tyler permission to come home, that it's the _last_ thing he'd want to do! He'd stay away out of pure spite, even if it meant losing me in the process!"

"Reverse psychology tends to favor the weak-minded," he agrees, though he's anything but smug. He's seething. "But if that's his excuse for his sudden wanderlust, then that's his cross to bear, sweetheart, not mine."

"Just tell me the truth!" I explode.

"Why bother, love?" His temper flares; rivals even mine. "You see what you want to see, and no matter what version of the truth I tell you, you are determined to see the worst in me."

His anger is a given, but in spite of my own I detect something else at play here. For the first time, I can see his armor cracking. He's not just mad; he's _hurt_. And it's pissing me off even _more_, because what right does he have to feel wounded? To make me the bad guy? What the hell have I said that isn't true?

I hold up a reproving finger. "Don't put that on me, Klaus. I see what you show me, and all you ever show me is a ruthless, homicidal maniac."

His eyes narrow, forming an accusation of his own. "We both know that's not true, but you'll never stop believing that, will you?"

"Oh please! Are you actually trying to play the victim card? Because I'm pretty sure every one of _yours_ just turned over in their graves."

He doesn't miss a beat. "And how many graves have you dug, Caroline? Oh, that's right." His lips curl into a cruel smile. "You simply find others to blame and do your dirty work for you. Tell me," he drawls in a voice I'm all too familiar with. He's about to twist the knife. "Is it exhausting? Being so righteous in the face of your own sins?"

Automatically I take a step back, sucking in a breath so fast my lungs sting. But the physical pain is nothing compared to the stabbing guilt that's sunk its hooks in me. It's made even worse by the fact that this isn't my first time hearing this speech from him.

'_You tell yourself whatever you need to so you can sleep at night.'_

I think it's safe to say that when the biggest mass murderer of all time criticizes your track record, it's time to reevaluate your life choices. Especially when said murderer has a point.

Because all I can think about right now is twelve shallow, unmarked graves in the woods – ones that _he_ dug for _me_, when the penance should have been mine alone. Twelve dirty holes in the ground for twelve witches, twelve _people_ – innocents just trying to stop the supernatural apocalypse that I inadvertently triggered. Women with families, friends, and lives – _twelve_ of them! – cut tragically short by yours truly. The price I willingly paid in exchange for just one. My best friend. So that _I_ wouldn't have to be the one suffering.

Trust me, the irony's not lost on me.

That day I learned the hard way that when you deal in death, there are no winners. Bonnie's survival never wiped my conscience clean, and the worst part is, now that she's well and truly dead, those witches pretty much died for nothing. It was a complete waste.

And yet, despite that, I don't regret choosing my happiness over theirs. Not at all, not for one second, and I hate it. I hate Klaus for seeing through me, for calling me on my hypocrisy, and worst of all, for not letting me despise him the way I need to. Because the person I really hate is the monster I'm becoming. Just like him.

_No._

"Don't try to make us the same, Klaus. We're not," I insist. Some distant part of me is intensely relieved that I bothered changing out of my Bonnie Parker getup before putting the Whitmore costume ball in my rearview. Her likeness wouldn't exactly help the point I'm trying to make here. "And don't change the subject!"

He holds up his hands in mock-apology. "Oh yes. Heaven forbid the spotlight stray away from Tyler the Virtuous and my list of unforgivable crimes against him. Wouldn't want that."

I swear, I am _this_ close to punching him again.

I plant my hands firmly on my hips, but it does little to remove the temptation. "Are you deliberately trying to piss me off?"

"No, love, I am trying to _open your eyes_," he emphasizes, so earnest it shuts me up completely. There's no sarcasm is his words. No insults, no charm, nada. He's dead serious.

When I don't interrupt, he presses the advantage. "When are you going to realize that the world isn't categorical? That you can't simply shove people into boxes and expect them never to stray from your limited perceptions?" He inches closer. God, he's not even touching me, but it doesn't even matter because his searing gaze roots me to the spot. My hands fall to my sides. "Wake up, Caroline. Nothing – no one – is set in stone. We're constantly evolving, all of us. Newborn vampires and one-thousand-year-old immortals alike."

Okay. I'm really not in the mood for a cryptic life lesson, particularly from someone whose hobbies include mass genocide and rewriting _Modern Methods of Torture for Dummies_. And yet, despite the warning bells in my head, I burn to know what's got him so worked up.

So I ask. "Fine, I'll bite. What kind of box have I put _you_ in?"

He gives me an impatient look that clearly translates as _'Isn't it obvious?'_ In return, I flash him my patented _'Are you serious?'_ face, because I think I'm finally boarding his delusional train of thought.

"If you're trying to tell me that you've actually changed – "

He's already shaking his head before I finish. "You're missing the point, love. It's not that I've changed. A millennium of ingrained beliefs and habits is a tough vault to crack, and although I will admit you probably stand a greater chance at that than most, I am who I've always been and always will be. No, I am not changed," he reiterates. "You, however, are different story."

"Me?" I ask, stupefied.

Klaus nods. The air between us feels lighter than before, but I'm still tense as a bow. "You're not the same girl you used to be. You're still figuring out your place in the world, and how others fit into yours. It's funny," he says suddenly, "I've always admired your strength, you know. It's a trait that belies your youth, so much so that I sometimes forget that you're only just starting to grow up. To realize your full potential." His attention shifts past me toward the beckoning landscape, apparently lost in thoughts I cannot see.

Regardless, my musings drift right alongside his toward the endless horizon of the surrounding marshland. It's strangely beautiful in its solitude; intimidating in its timelessness. Its infinity. Suddenly I feel very small. This world is far bigger, far more significant than a couple of messed up individuals inhabiting one miniscule corner of it. These past few years alone, my world's already expanded in frighteningly – _comically_ – large fashion with my initiation into Club Supernatural. How much bigger will it grow in a century? Or Five? Will this bayou still look the same when I've traversed the globe several times over? Will the world move on while I remain an eternal seventeen-year-old, or will I change right along with it?

My gaze slips back to my companion. Did Klaus undergo such a metamorphosis? Surely he wasn't always the cold, calculating predator he is now. A thousand years ago he was human. So many lifetimes he's lived since. At what point did he turn into… _this_? My God. Is that the sort of _growing up_ I'm to look forward to?

Stake me now.

I don't know how we got here to this… this unnerving philosophical debate I want no part in. I don't understand how we so easily downshifted from insults and guilt trips to an honest discussion of character flaws. I don't understand the knowing looks he gives me when he talks about _limited perceptions_ and _full potential_. I don't understand how it's so easy to forget who he is, who I am, or the terrible things we've done, when all we're doing is standing here talking in a freaking swamp castle.

"I'm not the only one you've placed in a box, Caroline," he goes on, drawing me back. "You put yourself in one, too, by relying solely on your past experiences to dictate your beliefs. By choosing to see things as you always have, rather than considering new truths that come along and challenge the old."

"New truths? _What_ truths?" I rake my fingers through my hair, itching to tear it out. "Stop talking in riddles, Klaus."

The way his eyes glitter does nothing to sooth my nerves. "Contrary to what you think, we're similar creatures, you and I. Yes – " he cuts off my immediate protest " – we are. Hate me all you want for saying so, love, but there is a darkness in you, one that twelve witches prove – " I visibly flinch at that " – and while it will never snuff out your light, my point stands that it exists… and you have no idea how to reconcile the sheltered, small town girl you once were with the hardened, capable vampire you are becoming. Just as you have no idea how to face your evolving perception of _me_."

Hold the phone. My _what_?

Is he seriously implying…?

I see the ghost of a smile on his face, but it feels all kinds of wrong. Forced. "It may give you comfort to keep casting me as the villain, Caroline, but that doesn't mean I have to stick to your script. You are still stuck in your narrow, antiquated notion of _terrible people_, dividing the world into good and evil, when the truth is that more often than not, we straddle the line dividing the two. It's this misperception that keeps you from moving forward, from seeing my intentions towards you as anything but genuine. Like my graduation gift," he notes with bitterness, and my guilt betrays me yet again. "Is it so hard to believe that I'm capable of altruism? That for once I did something with no thought to myself, no ulterior motive? Am I so irredeemable in your eyes that my actions hold no honor whatsoever?"

If there is any part of my conscience left unscathed, his next words fix that fast.

"Do not taint my actions with your prejudice, Caroline. Do not rob me of what is perhaps the most selfless act I've done in a thousand years. For _you_."

I know I should say something, anything, but my tongue sinks like lead in my mouth and my chest tightens past the point of letting me draw breath. Okay, I was wrong. _Now_ I'm speechless.

But before I start down the path of self-flagellation, I remind myself that Klaus hardly has a moral leg to stand on. He's no saint, and no amount of pretty words he spouts can change that. One good deed hardly redeems a lifetime of wicked ones.

But for this man, even one act of decency is a huge stride in the right direction. And that's honestly more than I ever expected from him.

Could he actually be right for once? Am I blinded by the transgressions of his past? Am I so jaded – _damaged_ – that I can't recognize good intentions when they're right in front of me?

I used to know where I stood, which side of the moral fence I fell on. Right and wrong, black and white, light and dark. It was that simple. Until I became part of the dark. If one good deed can't redeem a lifetime of wickedness, then do a few wicked deeds erase a lifetime of good? Is it still that simple? Am I already doomed?

Klaus doesn't think so. He doesn't see the world that way. He doesn't see _me_ that way. Question is, can I see _him_ any other way?

All this stuff about boxes and changing perceptions and shades of gray… I'm not sure how much of that I'm willing to cop to, honestly. But one thing I know is that, despite my own sins, despite all my attempts to push him away, he still puts his faith in me. Even when I don't.

Maybe it's time I start returning the favor.

I swallow hard. This raw, brutal honesty he makes a habit of showing me… it's a weakness. Mine, not his. Because every single time he gives me a glimpse of this side of him, it's like a punch to the gut, reminding me there's a man beneath the monster. That part of him is human. If only he'd stop proving me right.

He's still staring at me with those wide, expressive Klaus Eyes, silently begging me to respond, but I've got nothing. I'm out of retorts. Out of gas, out of adrenaline, I'm just… out.

At my silence he starts to withdraw, looking very much like _he's_ the one that was just verbally flogged, and suddenly this scene feels all too familiar. Add the Gilbert's front porch and subtract the charming smell of bayou muck, and yep. We've definitely done this dance before. '_Because of you Caroline. It was all for you.'_

Only this time, I can't afford to let him leave.

"You never really answered my question," I blurt, then mentally curse whatever demon's possessing my mouth for bringing _this_ up now. It's definitely not what I mean to say.

But he freezes a few paces out, so I figure what the hell; I'll go for broke. "Did you know Tyler wouldn't stay when you let him come back?"

He glances at me sideways. "Does it really make a difference?"

"Maybe not," I admit, taking an experimental step towards him. There's barely ten feet between us, but it could be the Grand Canyon for all the good it does. "But I'd like to know, just the same."

He appraises me for several painfully long seconds. Some unknown emotion flits across his stormy face, but it's gone before I can decipher it. Without warning he's in front of me again, and I brace myself for Caroline Crucifixion: The Sequel. He surprises me.

"I confess I might have suspected Tyler's intentions, but as I've said, his decisions are entirely his own. I played no intentional role in your break up." His gaze once again falls on the gray horizon. "Before I came back to Mystic Falls, love, I realized something: That in order for you to move forward, he had to return so that the sequence could play itself out naturally, so that you would figure out on your own what it is you truly want." His voice is low and thick with implication. And then his eyes find mine. "And that's the real reason I let him return to you. Because as long as you didn't find out for yourself that you and he are not meant to be, you would have used his absence to push me away forever."

I'm tempted to retort that I don't need an excuse for _that_, but for once I hold my tongue. Self-serving reasons aside, his answer is far more real and pure than I could have hoped for, and honestly? I'm a little touched by it. Why taint it with my default antagonism? Why discourage progress?

I sigh, long and deep. It feels like I held that breath for ages. "Okay. Thanks for being honest with me, and for what it's worth, I'm… sorry. You know, for assuming the worst.

"_But_," I tack on, "just because Tyler and I aren't together anymore doesn't mean that you're going to be my 'last love' or whatever."

I have to say it. Maybe it's catty of me in light of his sincerity, but let's face it: Enforcing boundaries is standard practice with this guy. Because even though the dust of my break up has yet to settle, I just know Klaus is seconds away from calling his travel agent and whisking me off to Rome-Paris-Tokyo on his private jet. Like, seriously.

His mouth forms the slimmest approximation of a smirk – a sure sign that we're finally moving past the heavy. The weight in my chest starts to lift. "Well, at least now it can't be said that I don't fight fair. Besides, a level playing field makes victory all the sweeter."

I groan. "Can you please not talk about me like I'm some trophy for the Hybrid Alpha-Male Triathlon?" I huff, but there's no real heat in it.

He chuckles. "Fair enough."

It's at this point that I think to myself, finally! The drama's behind us.

"But something tells me you didn't drive all the way to my neck of the woods just to question my motives."

Like I said, this shitstorm's just getting started.

I only hesitate for a second, but it's enough. His smile vanishes, the relaxed atmosphere right along with it. Already his armor's back in place. "You need something."

Crap. Now we're getting to the crux of the matter. Did I actually almost forget I came to New Orleans with an agenda?

Klaus tilts his head, gauging my reaction. "Something to do with Tyler, I assume? After all, that was your original bait of choice. Or was that just a clever cover-up for some greater crisis?" When I don't answer, he supplies his own. "Don't tell me I was actually right about that werewolf bite scenario. Or perhaps there's a bigger, badder monster that the Mystic Falls misfits aren't capable of handling on their own. No?" His voice drops to a threatening pitch. "Then how about I stop guessing and you start talking. Knowing you, I'm sure there's a well-crafted speech behind your request."

Damn him for knowing me so well.

You know what? Uh-uh. I'm not knuckling under. Trading jabs is familiar territory, after all. The status quo. When all else fails, return tit for tat.

"Why bother?" I throw his words back at him. "I'm sure the elaborate scenarios running through your head are much more interesting than, you know, _the truth_."

From the way his jaw clenches, the allusion isn't lost on him. "Nice try, sweetheart, but deflecting won't help you."

Well, then. Seeing as he's honesty's #1 fan…

I square my shoulders. "Fine. What I _need_ from you is to let me explain. Tyler, he… didn't just leave out of the blue, okay? He ditched me for _you_," I admit bluntly. "Happy?"

His reply is as dry as a box of tinder. "I'd be ecstatic if he were even remotely my type. Care to elaborate?"

_Not really_. But then I see realization dawn in his eyes and he saves me the trouble. "You're saying he's no longer your problem, but mine."

I frown at the wording, but nod anyway. "He's coming after you, yes." Then, under my breath, "You should be flattered."

It just slips out, and I can see my surprise written all over Klaus' face.

"Excuse me?"

"He could be spending a long and happy life with me, but oh no. He'd rather squander it trying to destroy _yours_."

Because this, ladies and gentlemen, is the story of my freaking life. Always second place. Always left behind. Collateral damage tossed aside for the bigger picture.

"You," I grumble. "_You're_ Tyler's first choice. Not me. Can you believe that?" How is it that, without even trying, Klaus still ends up winning?

"Intelligence never was his forte," he mutters, almost to himself. "As if voluntarily giving you up wasn't idiotic enough, does he honestly believe he poses a legitimate threat against me?"

"You know, you've made the mistake of underestimating him before, remember? That didn't exactly work out in your favor."

The sting of his Epic Hybrid Failure hangs between us, but I'm disappointed when my taunt fails to get the reaction I hoped for.

He spreads his arms wide, unfazed. "And yet, here I stand."

My hands fist the hemline of my blouse. "Don't you get it? You took _everything_ from him. You stole his life, you drove a wedge between us, you slaughtered his mother and his hybrids – "

"I'm sorry, _his_ hybrids?"

" – and you basically reduced his life purpose to nothing more than petty revenge! He's not pulling his punches anymore because he literally has _nothing_ left to lose!"

Klaus' response is as cool as mine is heated. "Well, love, that's his prerogative. I did grant him his freedom, after all, so he's welcome to live – and die – as he sees fit. And if I'm being honest, I'd love another excuse to rip him apart."

I swear, talking to this man is like banging my head against a brick wall. "God, can you pull your stubborn head out of your ass for two seconds to take this seriously? Despite what you think, you're not without weaknesses. And for all we know, Tyler could find some stupid witchy loophole around our bloodline dying out with you, so don't brush this off!"

Honestly, Tyler didn't leave me a clue as to what he's planning, but I know him. I already know that's not the route he'll take – he wants Klaus to _suffer_, not die – but if the threat gets Klaus to freaking _listen_...

Instead, he simply eyes me with suspicion. "So it's not the looming deaths of you and your friends that concern you? You're here to warn _me_, purely out of the goodness of your heart? You'll forgive me for questioning _your_ motives, love, but as you never fail to remind me, you don't exactly crave my company in the first place. So why this uncharacteristic bout of chivalry?" A knot forms in my stomach as he leans forward. "You want me to take this seriously, Caroline? Then don't jerk me around. Why are you really here?"

I steel my nerves because I know what's coming. I have to do this. I can't lose him.

"Look, I thought if I gave you a heads up on the impending Tyler-pocalypse, you might…"

"Spare him? Again?" he catches on immediately, his mouth forming a thin line."And I suppose you just expect me to fall in line because it's you who's asking."

"I don't _expect_ anything, jeez. I just hoped – "

"Oh, I know exactly what you hoped for. _Mercy. For Tyler_," he quotes, shaking his head in disgust. "You really are a broken record. And irony of ironies, it was you who so thoughtfully pointed out that his whole life's purpose is to destroy mine. Surely you realize that banishing him to the ends of the earth won't suffice this time."

"Then don't!"

Whatever he expects me to say, it isn't that. His raised eyebrows beckon me to explain.

"Don't just let him go," I repeat, stronger this time. He needs to know how serious I am because every mile driven and every word spoken – that was all just the prelude, the opening salvo building up to this moment. This one goal.

"_Compel him_."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Yes, she actually said that. We're finally starting to see what this 'plan' is that Caroline has been mentioning. More on that later.

I admit, this chapter was originally much shorter, but apparently Klaus and Caroline have a lot to say and frankly, I just don't have the heart (or the capacity) to shut them up. I figure none of you mind too much. As you can probably tell already, this story focuses more on the characters and the evolving relationships rather than on an action-driven plot. I'd also like to mention that this story is every bit as much about the dissolution of Forwood as it is about the beginning of Klaroline. I implied as much in the premise, but I figured I'd go ahead and be very clear about that because I understand that it might not be everyone's cup of tea. (Make no mistake – Klaroline IS endgame, but we've got some baggage to deal with before we get there.) That being said, I'm very excited about the emotional journey we're only just beginning!

I really wish I could promise you guys some kind of regular updating schedule, but I just can't. Real life, and all that. In addition to moving and starting a new job, my car finally gave out on me, so that's another item on my list of things keeping me busy. And as I mentioned before, I have other writing projects in the mix. So with all that, I really do appreciate your patience and understanding with my slow-ish updates :)

Anywho, I'll see you all back for part 3!


	3. Bargaining: Part I

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Contains spoilers up through TVD 5x05.

**Chapter Lyrics**: "Constant Craving" by K. D. Lang.

**A/N: **Welcome back, my dears! I figured why not celebrate the end of the TVD drought with a new chapter? Sorry for the wait, and thanks for your continued patience with my slow writing. This chapter was a bit of a struggle to say the least, but I'll leave the details until later. You've waited long enough ;)

* * *

><p><em>Maybe a great magnet pulls<em>  
><em>All souls towards truth<em>  
><em>Or maybe it is life itself<em>  
><em>That feeds wisdom<em>  
><em>To its youth<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Part 3: Bargaining<strong>

For a beat, the silence is so loud it threatens to unhinge me. Dimly I register the far off cries of water fowl mingled with the soothing undertones of wind and waves licking the shoreline of Lake Pontchartrain. I latch onto the distraction like a lifeline.

But then Klaus recovers from the bombshell I just dropped, and from the look on his face, I know I'm toast.

"Let me see if I have this right," he starts calmly – _too_ calmly, if you ask me, "you're actually asking me to – ?"

"Compel him," I force out, hating him for making me repeat those damning words. Hating myself even more for suggesting this.

Because if there's someone out there who knows the devastation of being repeatedly mind-raped better than me, I'd sure like to meet them. Damon really did a number on me when I was human, and even though Elena and Stefan like to believe I'm over it, I just don't have the heart to tell them otherwise. That kind of traumatic shit doesn't ever leave you. Not really. It just leaves invisible scars.

But at least scars can be born. Death? Not so much.

And that's all the justification I need to interfere.

Don't get me wrong – engineering a bitter, mind-puppet Tyler Lockwood won't exactly earn me my cape or heroic theme song, but it's a million times better than letting him go through with his stupid kamikaze mission, right? I mean, even Elena's had her share of entanglements with the morality police: She once had Damon compel her own brother out of town to save his life, and yeah, okay, perhaps referencing _him_ isn't the best way to build my case for model behavior.

When another painful lull descends without so much as an eye twitch from my stony companion, my nerves kick into high gear and my mouth wastes no time trying to pick up the slack.

"You see, because if you just compel Tyler, then he'll have to back off from you and the extended Original family… _and_ he gets to leave New Orleans in one piece since, you know, he's obviously not a threat anymore. And bonus! I'll get to sleep at night, knowing I've prevented the preventable. Everybody's happy. Win-win-win." Still crickets. "You could do it," I add unnecessarily. "You could make him drop the whole revenge fantasy thing. For good."

Apparently, watching me hang myself is the key to a response. "I could also make him off himself in whatever creative manner strikes my fancy, but let's put a pin in that for the moment, shall we?"

I bristle. "Klaus – "

But he's done playing statue. "Weren't you so adamant before that Tyler Lockwood never belonged to me? And now you want him back on my leash?"

I really, _really_ don't like the predatory gleam in his eye right now.

"You want him at my disposal once again? At my _mercy_?" he pushes, and I belatedly realize he's not looking for confirmation at all. He just wants an audience. God, he's actually _relishing_ this – Tyler's hatred, my fear, all of it. "The poor lad who fought so hard to break the so-called shackles of my sire bond. So that he would be free of me forever. Well," his lips quirk upward, "I can't say I don't find the irony amusing. Not to mention that the idea of him living, knowing he can't touch me, having yet another reason to loathe me for the rest of his existence – one he has only because _I_ allow it – is an appealing notion. A flattering one, as you called it."

Bile rises in my throat throughout his speech, but I force it down. "Whatever works for you."

"And yet," he ignores me, "there's a reason I never let my enemies live. Oh, they can't kill me, much as they're fond of trying, but they do have a knack for remaining eternal thorns in my side. Nuisances, you see. Which is why I find _death_ – " he savors the word in a way that sends my last shred of confidence into a tailspin " – a far more convenient, _permanent_ solution to Tyler Lockwood's futile conspiracy against me. And given how much motivation he handed me during my stint in the Gilbert's lovely home, taunting me like a petulant child, threatening me with the cure… Well. Suffice it to say I made the most of my imprisonment and planned his demise to the last spectacular detail, and let me tell you, love," he lowers his voice conspiratorially, "it's a masterpiece even by my standards."

Oh. My. God. I can't believe that not ten minutes ago I actually felt _guilty_ for thinking the worst of this bastard – and here he goes, proving me right!

Goodbye, fear. Hello, reality check.

"_Seriously_?" I shake my head, disgust amplified by fury. "Are you fundamentally incapable of restraint? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Your negotiating skills leave a little something to be desired," he comments drily.

"This isn't funny!"

"Oh, I couldn't agree more." His tone is hard enough to cut glass. Before I can react, he's in my face, eyes flashing, his warm breath a shock to my senses. My comeback dies in my throat. "You do not get to show up in _my_ town, pull me away from _my_ life, and expect me to yield to _your _selfish demands, Caroline. I am not your tool to wield whenever you see fit."

I crane my neck to peer at him. "That's what you think I'm doing? Manipulating you?"

"Wouldn't be the first time, love."

Jesus, the hypocrisy is killing me. How many times has this guy lied, cajoled, threatened, extorted, stolen, tortured or straight up _killed_ in the name of getting what he wants?

But I digress…

"God, what are you getting so bent outta shape for? You're actually objecting to a plan that hands _you_ all the control? This isn't even just about Tyler's wellbeing; this is the best solution for everyone!"

"Hardly," Klaus sneers. "Caroline, the reason Tyler even has the _audacity_ to challenge me at all is because he knows he can use you as a pretty shield against the fullest extent of my wrath. He fancies himself immune because, relationship or no, you still fight his battles for him. But that ends now," he vows. "He's already used far more than his allotment of get-out-of-jail-free tokens. I can't let his insolence pass any longer."

"And _I_ can't let you destroy the people I care about," I counter, just as fiercely. Klaus says nothing; settles for glaring at me, clearly vexed with my resolve. He's in good company, trust me.

Any sense of satisfaction I might take from that, though, is short-lived because we're barely one round in, and already we reached an impasse.

We're still standing uncomfortably close; the sparks between us might as well be magnetic because for the span of several brutally long seconds, neither of us moves. At all. We just simmer in each other's anger, unwilling (or unable) to yield our ground. It's familiar standoff.

And freaking _exhausting_.

Enough is enough. I'm not getting anywhere with this stubborn jackass fighting fire with fire.

Through no small effort, my feet shuffle backwards until we're a more… ah, _appropriate_ distance apart. I can breathe again. Wait, when did I stop? Oh, never mind.

Bottom line is, removing the distraction (_ahem_) affords me enough clarity to test drive a different strategy. A better one, I hope.

"You said before that you didn't want me to push you away for keeping me and Tyler apart," I remind him, as gently as I'm capable, "so don't take that back. Don't undo the progress we made at graduation. Because – " the words tumble out before I can second guess myself " – I don't want to hate you forever for ending his life."

Because in spite of my revulsion, in spite of listening to Klaus delight at the mere idea of killing my former beau, I actually mean that. I don't want to hate him.

Because – that's right, folks – yes. Turns out I _am _capable of feeling something other than pure loathing for the man who led the Hybrid Reign of Terror through my hometown, dragging it through the mud for months on end, leaving an endless trail of bodies in his wake.

Because, as previously established, the monster's not all he's shown me.

The proof, however, lies buried beneath layers upon layers of violent tendencies, emotional baggage, and general pigheadedness, and actually _accessing_ it is about as easy as disarming a bomb. Actually, I think I'd rather tackle the bomb. I mean, let's be honest: It's safer, more predictable, and certainly more compassionate.

With Klaus, all I can think to do now is sweet talk my way through this until his humanity deigns to make a cameo appearance and we can all leave here winners.

But that phrase about flies and honey? Total crap, if his reaction is anything to go by.

"_There_ it is," he fumes, and I'm more than a little stunned by the venom in those three words. "Fond as I am of your signature scoffs and scathing retorts, love, I have to say that this particular weapon of yours might be the most powerful one in your arsenal. Well done."

Um… what the hell?

All I can do is gape and wait for an explanation.

"But you should know better," he obliges, tone laced with disapproval. "Emotional blackmail won't work on me. You can't threaten me with hatred, sweetheart, not when that's all I've ever known from you."

_Threaten_ him? Sheesh, paranoid much?

"And as you've made abundantly clear," he adds, "you have no intention of granting me the alternative, so you tell me, love. What have I to fear?"

Well, then. Strike One, Forbes.

It should horrify me that my gut instinct is to contradict him; tell him there _is_ still more to lose – _don't go there, Caroline_ – but I'm not stupid or desperate enough to throw myself on that grenade. He's still Klaus. In spite of my _evolving perspective_ or whatever, I haven't forgotten that. Not for one second.

Which is exactly why I don't fold my hand. Because just as he's still Klaus, I'm still _me_, and lord knows I've had more than my quota of his self-righteous bullshit today.

"You know, you're hardly innocent in all this," I point out. "Yeah, Tyler broke your sire bond, turned your minions loose, and tried to kill you. So what?" I pair my taunts with a careless shrug, and yeah, okay, I admit I'm deliberately stirring the pot. And it feels _good_. "Honestly, what did you expect, Klaus? You _made_ him. Is it really so surprising that the hybrid _you_ created is following in your footsteps?"

_Aha_. The mask slips for only a fraction of a second – I almost don't even catch it – but I see enough. I _said_ enough.

There, underneath all that hostility, all that thinly concealed pain, is the human I'm so desperate to reach.

The growl that escapes him, though, bears no human resemblance whatsoever.

"I am _nothing_ like him."

"Then prove it," I challenge. "Don't let his flaws become yours. Let him go, Klaus."

It's a distant, yet recognizable echo of my last plea for Tyler's life… right before he was condemned to the Katherine Pierce treatment, A.K.A. an eternity in Vampire Witness Protection. Because even with yours truly running interference, that's all that the _mercy_ of the infamous Klaus Mikaelson is worth.

I wish I could say he surprises me this time.

"Points for effort, love, but as you recall, the last pardon I gave turned out to be such a disappointing investment that I'm going to have to pass on a do-over."

And there goes Strike Two.

My whole body deflates, so much so that you'd think he just cancelled Christmas. Or, you know, signed Tyler's death sentence yet again.

You know what's sad, though? I mean besides the obvious? That in spite of everything, a part of me still pities this miserable creature. I mean, seriously. He holds all the cards, and yet somehow manages to lose this game every single time. Oh, he'll save face, kill his nemesis, reclaim whatever alpha male pride he can salvage from the wreckage, but he'll still lose – and I can't even believe I'm saying this – _me_, perhaps the only 'light' in his infinite, pitch-black life. For good this time.

But of _course_ that's what he'll do, and I'm an idiot to think I could ever change any of this, because even when I pave the way for him, give him chance after chance after chance to prove me wrong, prove that I can trust him, he _still_ can't get out of his own way. That's who he is. He's proud and stupid and self-destructive and believe me, I'm only just scratching the surface of his long list of character flaws.

God, I should've just turned my back on him ages ago.

(And don't even get me started on the implications of _that_. One emotional crisis at a time, please and thank you.)

"Let's discuss what this is really about, Caroline," Klaus cuts into my internal monologue. He's pacing in front of me – not sure when that started – and the slow, even rhythm contrasts sharply with how unbalanced he sounds. "You're only after my assistance in order to remove the lone roadblock in your damaged relationship. To compel away Tyler's reason for leaving, so he'll come running straight home to you."

My chin snaps up. Honestly, that never even occurred to me. At all. And even if it had, there's no way I'd actually come here for _that_.

Now, I'm no saint. I freely admit to orchestrating a ridiculously risky plan that puts Tyler's entire fate in the hands of his greatest enemy – an act which quite possibly earns me a one-way ticket to the big sauna downstairs. The way I see it, though, if compulsion turns out to be the insurance policy Klaus needs to let Tyler reach two decades and beyond… then my conscience can take the hit. Wouldn't be the first time I made a deal with the devil, after all.

But even with that enormous black mark in my ledger, I'm not a total bitch. All I'm after is to deprive Tyler of the _ability_ to make a futile (and very suicidal) attempt on Klaus' life. That's it. No backhanded scheming whatsoever to manipulate his _feelings_, to make him come back to me out of some twisted obligation. I mean, yeah, I still love him, obviously, and of course I hate that he's gone, but my God, there's low and then there's _low_.

It's as I'm about to launch my defense campaign that Klaus suddenly throws on the breaks, halting right in front of me, his entire body angled away from mine. Doesn't do much good. I still see what he tries to hide.

I see; still working on understanding.

His jaw is set and his stormy eyes turn hard, fixed on some arbitrary point in the distance. With an audible sigh, his shoulders slump; the rest of him, however, remains completely rigid – a bizarre contradiction I can't make heads or tails of. It's like he's fortifying a fortress that's already started crumbling to the ground. Like he's already resigned to some failure. Or maybe not; maybe he's readying himself to weather through a devastating storm, determined to come out the other side on top in spite of the forces against him. Just like the strong, battle-weary castle we're currently standing under.

One way or another, Klaus' shields are operating at full capacity, and I know I am _this_ close to losing him for good.

"How many more times will you take advantage of my feelings for you, Caroline?" he demands, still looking anywhere but me. "Despite whatever impression I've given you, my tolerance for your games isn't endless. There is a limit to how far you can push me, and believe me when I say you are dangerously close. So if you're done wasting both of our time trying to make me your doormat – "

"Why'd you come then?" I interject, exasperated. "If you hate being at my beck and call so much, why do you bother showing up at all?"

Finally, his eyes snap to mine. "Pretense doesn't become you, Caroline," he returns harshly. "You know why."

Boy, do I.

I don't like it. I sure as hell don't get it. But I guess I can't deny it anymore.

At the end of the day, he just can't seem to turn his back on me either.

"I believe you know the way back to Mystic Falls."

Okay, scratch that. He's running. Again.

Looks like Strike Three, I'm out.

Except, here's the thing: Contrary to what Klaus thinks, this isn't a game. Not to me. There's no cap on how many attempts I get, there's no game over, and I am _so_ done playing by his stupid, fickle rules.

I barely let him take a step before I flash in front of him, my hand stopping him in place.

"Why do you do this?" I cry helplessly. "Why do you sabotage everything, huh? Why bother with all those stupid speeches about seeing past the villain in you only to turn around and prove that I was right in the first place? Why build up my hope only to crush it?" My grip on his forearm is bruising, and even though he could tear through me easier than tissue paper, he doesn't so much as flinch. "Show me those weren't just empty words, Klaus."

What I hear in response is this quiet, hollow sound that's so unlike the man in front of me that I snatch my hand back as if burned by it.

"I told you, love. I am who I am. Accept that."

"Like hell." My voice snaps like a whip in the void. "You also told me we're all still evolving, remember? Looks like I'm not the only one who needs a wakeup call."

His mouth twitches – a subtle crack in his armor. I'll take that.

"Clever girl." Nope. Not a compliment. "Trying to trap me with my own words. Why am I not surprised that you pick the most inopportune moment to start listening to me?"

I laugh briefly in spite of the tension. Or perhaps because of it. "Yeah, well, I'll give just about anything a shot if it means saving people I care about."

I pause, my own words reminding me of something so crucial, so _obvious_, I can't believe I didn't think of it until now. Something I need to say just as much as he needs to hear.

I suck in a breath. _You got this, Care_.

"Remember when I said as much earlier? That I wouldn't let the people I care about be destroyed?" He simply stares, waiting for me to connect the dots. "Hello! I said _people_, Klaus. Not person. As in Tyler _and_ you."

"That's touching, sweetheart, but frankly I'm a tad insulted that you think the pup even stands a chance at defeating me."

I roll my eyes. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what – "

"The day you bit me," I elaborate, not bothering to sugarcoat it. "Don't you remember what I told you then either? Or is your memory really that selective?"

The low grumble from my hybrid companion only serves to remind me to add 'impatient control freak' to his aforementioned list of character flaws.

And then, all at once, the warning cuts off and his eyes go wide. He remembers, alright.

'_I know that you're in love with me. And anyone capable of love is capable of being saved.'_

"I wasn't hallucinating," I offer, my voice strangely small. "And I believe it now as much as I did then."

_Bingo_.

My little confession blasts right through his defenses, and judging by the way his lips part, a rush of air hissing between them, I can tell he's more than a little affected.

For all of two seconds it takes for him to regroup.

"Well, then. I see you haven't lost your fondness for heroics. Although, I would point out that it is misplaced now as it ever was."

Aaaand let's go ahead and add 'liar' to the pile, shall we?

See, that's the funny thing about Klaus. He tries to act like he doesn't give a damn when anyone with a pulse can see that he feels everything more deeply than a wounded puppy. I'm not even being mean here, it's the truth.

Which is exactly how I know that my hunch isn't misplaced at all. He wouldn't be this edgy if I didn't strike a nerve. He wouldn't hold me at arms-length if I wasn't _so close_ to the truth about his deep, dark secret. So close, in fact, it isn't all that hard to fill in the gaps.

He doesn't think he can be saved. Doesn't stop him from craving it, though. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough.

"Guess I'm just a sucker for lost causes," I reply, my lofty tone belying how serious I am. "Maybe it's because I don't really believe in them."

There. I said it, and I'm not taking it back. I tossed him the life preserver, and now it's up to him to decide if he takes it. If he sinks or swims. Because the only way this works is if he meets me half-way. I can't just _want_ this enough for him. He has to want it – and act on it – for himself.

What I _can_ do is be the catalyst; remind him there _is_ hope; and tip the scales in his favor… and in mine. Tyler's.

It must be tattooed on my face or something because Klaus reads my thoughts plain as day. "Let's not pretend this is some noble pursuit to save my twisted soul, love, when we both know there's only one you care about, and it certainly isn't mine."

To be fair, the two aren't mutually exclusive.

"You're wrong," is all I say.

"Am I?"

I smile, and whaddaya know, it's one hundred percent genuine. "Would I even be here, reaching out to you, if I honestly thought it was pointless? If I didn't see something redeemable in you? If I didn't care at all?"

Whoa. I just… whoa.

Even I'm surprised that I said that, let alone how much I _meant_ it.

You know what? No, I'm not. It's like I just told him: From the very beginning, this plan never stood a chance without the humanity I knew existed deep inside him. Just as I now know this plan can't succeed without my unguarded honesty. Throw in a couple other key ingredients, say a quick Hail Mary, and about all I can do is hope this recipe equals _Jackpot!_

Which brings us to now.

Klaus' gaze pierces me so deeply I could swear he's reaching inside, constricting my heart with his fist rather than his eyes. Like he's in shock; honestly, I know the feeling.

Seconds tick by, each and every one testing my sanity, but I don't speak. I don't move. At this point it's enough just to make myself keep breathing as I wait on pins and needles for the final verdict.

"He will hate you for this, Caroline," he says quietly, and it takes me another couple seconds before I catch on.

He's talking about _Tyler_. Which means…

_Yes._

"He'll be forced to give up his vendetta against me," he goes on, voice oddly detached, "but the lingering resentment will fester like a gaping wound for all time, never able to heal. And one day, if and when he puts the pieces together, it will be you he turns to. _You_ will bear the burden of his hatred, Caroline, for having taken away the one thing that gave his life purpose in his darkest hour."

My gut twists at the warning, but I manage, "I can live with that."

I spent over half a day trapped in a confining vehicle convincing myself of exactly that. No going back now.

He peers at me, sensing my hesitation. "Can you?"

I nod with as much resolve as I can muster.

"Very well," he acquiesces. "As long as you understand the consequences… I accept your proposal."

Then his face transforms, and it's a far cry from resigned; it's devilish. He's stacking the deck again. Crap.

"Under one condition," he amends.

Of course.

"There's no quid pro quo here, Klaus."

He quirks an eyebrow, that familiar cockiness resurfacing. "Is that so? Suddenly Tyler Lockwood's life is less valuable to you?"

"Fine," I concede through clenched teeth. "Name your price."

It's then that his attitude switches gears yet again. I swear, this man has more costume changes than a freaking chorus girl, because in the span of five minutes he's gone from angry to mopey to arrogant to…

Huh. If I didn't know better, I'd say he actually looks… nervous?

Klaus Mikaelson doesn't do nervous.

"Stay," he says suddenly.

I blink, confused. "I wasn't about to bolt."

"No, I mean," he says slowly. Deliberately. "That's my condition."

My stomach hits the ground so hard it's probably half-way to China.

He wouldn't. He's not seriously asking me to –

"Stay with me, Caroline. In New Orleans."

Son of a _bitch_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** The last bit might seem odd for several reasons (not the least of which is the drama going on in NOLA that Klaus warned Caroline about), but it'll all get cleared up in the first part of the next chapter.

By now, I hope it's clear why Caroline is doing what she's doing and what her exact intentions are (even if you don't necessarily agree with them). If it isn't, please let me know and I'll take another look. I did edit this pretty fast so I could get it posted ASAP, so it's very possible I missed something.

Like I mentioned before, this chapter gave me a hard time for some reason, and unfortunately I feel like it shows. Looking back on it now, I realize there's a good 10K+ words of Klaroline bickering between this chapter and the last, and although I quite enjoy showcasing their chemistry that way, I do understand that for some readers, it might be starting to feel a tad redundant and exhausting. If that's the case, I hope the next chapter is more to your liking. It should have a different feel to it. I won't say what… I'll just say different ;)

I also went back and forth (and back and forth, and back and forth…) about which of Caroline's persuasive strategies would be the most effective in swaying Klaus to her side. I'm still not 100% sure I made the right call, but the one that I ended up writing somehow felt more right than the others to me. Feel free to offer a dissenting opinion – in fact, I welcome it. I like to hear different theories.

Lastly, if anyone out there is interested in creating cover images for this fic or any of my others, please let me know :)

See everybody at Part 4!


	4. Bargaining: Part II

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Contains spoilers up through TVD 5x05.

**Chapter Lyrics**: "Undisclosed Desires" by Muse.

**A/N:** It lives, Igor!

Sooo now that you've all completely forgotten this story and probably think I've dropped off the face of the earth, here it is – an update, at last! I know, I know… I owe you guys the biggest apology ever for the ridiculously long wait. I feel awful about it, really and truly. Six months is way too long, but I promise it wasn't for lack of trying to get this out. No joke, almost every day for weeks and weeks I sat down to write this, and it got to the point where if I could churn out a couple decent sentences, that was a victory. Then weeks turned into months, inspiration kind of went on a downward spiral (let's be honest, TVD S5 wasn't a huge help), work has been crazy hectic, and… well. You get the gist.

I want to dedicate this chapter to everyone who's stuck with me through the drought, especially Doggi-chan, whose kind and inspiring words are a huge reason this chapter ever saw the light of day. A little encouragement (or in this case, a LOT) goes a very long way. Thank you, thank you, _thank you_.

Also, a long overdue thank you goes to the wonderful Teamvampirebarbie22 (_teamvampirebarbie22 dot tumblr dot com_) for creating a gorgeous cover image for this story. Seriously, it rocks and so do you.

And finally, because I think everyone (myself included) could use a brief reminder…

_**Previously on Another Heart Calls**_: Following the Forwood breakup and Tyler's departure from Whitmore College (TVD 5x05), Caroline hits the road to New Orleans determined to save him from his (highly suicidal) mission of going after Klaus. Her plan? Persuade the Big Bad not to kill her ex-beau (again) and instead _compel_ him from seeking further revenge, thus keeping the two volatile hybrids out of each other's hair for good. After much, much negotiating, Klaus finally agrees… for a price: Caroline must agree to stay in New Orleans. And I believe that brings us up to speed.

* * *

><p><em>I want to reconcile the violence in your heart<br>I want to recognize your beauty's not just a mask  
>I want to exorcise the demons from your past<br>I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: Bargaining: Part II<strong>

I, Caroline Forbes, am an idiot.

I really should've seen this coming from a mile away. Or ten. I mean, Klaus _not_ asking for a down payment and a contract signed in blood? Please. This isn't my first Original rodeo.

So now that I clicked my heels and woke back up in Kansas, why does it still feel like I'm walking around in a bad dream?

And that's when I hear it. A voice rising from my memory like smoke. _'Come to New Orleans,'_ it says.

Oh. That's why.

What, did Klaus and Silas conspire against my sanity over a round of drinks or something? Because I gotta say, the invitation wasn't welcome coming from the ancient psychopath cloaked in the hybrid's likeness, and it's even less so coming from the real deal. Probably because this invitation is nothing more than the Original's usual brand of extortion. And said extortion pretty much trumps that so-called _selfless act_ he was boasting earlier – you know, when he gave me hell for giving _him_ hell about his little graduation gift. The one where he promised me Tyler's freedom. And now here he is, wielding said freedom like another freaking bargaining chip. For _my_ freedom.

Let me repeat: I. Am. An. Idiot.

"You really can't help yourself, can you?"

"Well – "

One word. That's all it takes to trigger the avalanche.

"Seriously, Klaus, what the hell?" I explode. "Why is it always one step forward, three hundred steps back with you, huh? I thought we were finally getting past the days of you trying to manipulate your way into my life!"

Anyone remember the diamond bracelet fiasco? The kisses he stole while hijacking Tyler's body? The date he won only because I was desperate and he knew it?

Yeah. I rest my case.

And it just _sucks_ because I actually thought we were making some headway. You know… as friends or whatever. Granted, that might have to do with the fact that it's slightly harder to hound me from several states beyond his jurisdiction, but still. He backed off. He crossed Tyler off his hit list. Hell, he even cured Damon free of charge. Lord knows it must've gone against every selfish instinct he's honed for the last thousand years, but he did it all. For me.

And honestly, it's not like I was expecting another freebie. But asking me for _this_? Seriously? Have we really made no progress whatsoever?

Don't answer that.

Unable to stand still any longer, my feet set an anxious, croaking cadence against the worn drawbridge below. "So is this what you meant by letting me figure things out on my own? Or waiting to be my _last love,_ _however long it takes_?" I quote mockingly. "Suddenly you can't even make it past Christmas? What, does your patience have an expiration date or is this just too good an opportunity to pass up?"

There's a low gravelly sound from his direction – a sigh. Or a growl. Hard to tell. "Love, if you care to listen – "

"No, _you_ listen!" I cry, jabbing a finger in his astonished face. "This isn't fair. You said he was free. You said Tyler was free, and I – I was supposed to be free, too!" Pain constricts my throat; chokes off my words. Something inside me is breaking, and I'm pretty sure anger and exhaustion have nothing to do with it anymore.

Swallowing hard, I get my act together. Sort of. "You can't do this to me, Klaus. You just – you just _can't_. I'm not going to uproot my life to come keep you company while you get your kicks playing puppet master of the supernatural underworld. I have my own plans, my own life, and God, if you're just going to twist my arm into giving all that up, then forget Tyler, 'cause you might as well just compel _me_ already – "

"A _visit_, Caroline."

I halt, my foot arrested mid-stomp. All else fades away as my brain zeroes in on the word. I recognize it. Understand it. Interpret it.

And still come up with a big, fat nothing.

"All I'm asking is that you stay in New Orleans with me for a brief visit," Klaus elaborates when my stunned silence finally affords him the opportunity. "Not eternal imprisonment."

_Oh._

"Oh."

His jaw hardens as he fixes me with an indecipherable look. "This tendency you have of assuming the worst is growing tiresome."

"Yeah, well…" I backpedal, even though he basically just slashed the tires of my getaway car. "Can you honestly blame me?"

Because seriously, folks. On top of everything else, blackmailing himself a companion is hardly uncharted territory. Ripper Stefan 2.0, anyone?

"_Stay with me_," I parrot back. "Come on, Klaus. Don't pretend like you didn't know _exactly_ how that would sound to me."

"Perhaps," he acknowledges. "Though you didn't have to protest quite so vigorously."

"Quite so – oh, you jerk," I catch on. "You did that on purpose, didn't you? You wanted to see me squirm." Like a worm on a hook.

"Your reaction… I admit, I was curious."

"About what? How long I could make a fool of myself without coming up for air?"

He gives a casual shrug. "I merely find it surprising that you thought someone _redeemable_ also capable of holding you hostage in a foreign city indefinitely." His teasing words belie the weariness coating them. Much like how his devil-may-care attitude undercuts the hard set of his facial features. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the King of Mixed Signals.

And what does he mean, _redeemable_? What the hell is he – oh. Oh _crap_.

Once again I'm assaulted with a bitter memory, this one far more recent. And damning.

'_Would I even be here reaching out to you, if I honestly thought it was pointless? If I didn't see something redeemable in you?'_

Ugh. Open mouth, insert foot.

Looks like Klaus wasn't just trying to get a rise out of me with his delightfully ambiguous proposition, after all. He was _testing_ me. My sincerity. He wanted to know if my earlier claim was more than just some ploy to soften him up and recruit him to my ex-boyfriend rescue mission. He wanted to know if I bought my own press; if I actually see someone worthwhile peeking through the shadows of his corrupted exterior – someone who, say, _wouldn't_ lock up a certain golden-haired, tempestuous vampire and throw away the key the moment she signs on the dotted line.

And you know what? I wasn't lying. I _do_ see that guy. Deep, deep down. I just… lost sight of him for a minute. Oops?

Klaus holds my gaze unswervingly, making me feel about ten inches tall, and it hits me like a freight train. Disappointment. That's the look he's giving me. And I don't care for it one bit.

"Apparently we both have some bad habits to break." My body slowly unclenches with the concession – or it would, were it not for my companion still boring holes in my skin.

"Indeed."

"It's just… it's going to take some time," I add. Rome wasn't built in a day, after all, and I can only assume that building bridges with a hormonal hybrid follows an even steeper learning curve.

Klaus' face lights up, presumably at the mention of _time_. And the implication behind it. "We're immortal. We've no shortage of that."

For once I let his remark slide without dispute. Honestly, I'm just pleased that he's accepting my olive branch. Goodness knows I could use a break today.

And just like that, we're aces again. Crisis averted. Equilibrium restored. Cool.

Wait, no. Not cool. Somehow this little freak show of ours just keeps getting freakier.

Let's take a step back. I'm not sure what's more disturbing: that thus far, in our unofficial bid for the moral high ground, Klaus already kicked my ass several times today; that the victor's all too willing to let bygones be bygones; or that I give a damn, one way or another. I mean, why should I care what he thinks? Newsflash, Forbes: this venture isn't about him. Hell, it's not even about _me_. It's about Tyler. It's about talking his nemesis off the homicidal cliff. It's about saving my friend, period. Nothing else matters. Right? Right.

Argh, what is _wrong_ with me?

Bigger question: How have I made it this far today without a drink in hand? And I don't mean champagne.

"So," Klaus breaks in, the wattage of his smile noticeably brighter. "Now that we've removed your everlasting freedom from the chopping block…. What do you say?" He jerks his head in the general direction of the city for emphasis.

I don't answer right away because honestly? I'm tempted. Like really, really tempted. And no, not for _that_ reason.

Ironically, New Orleans checks quite a few boxes in the 'pro' column. It's no secret that one could throw a rock down Bourbon Street and hit literally dozens of pubs (a definite selling point for someone in my weary, alcohol-deficient state) as well as find great food, music, art, culture, blah blah blah. At least, I seem to recall promises of such in a certain voicemail once upon a time…. Not that I memorized it or anything.

Point is, a change of scenery could not come soon enough. Don't get me wrong: out here it feels like I stumbled straight into one of the Met's most beautiful landscapes. But charming as this rustic backdrop is, the towering fortress looming above me is gradually losing its appeal, reminding me how very, very far I am from my comfort zone. Far from anything, really. And despite the inviting nature of the bayou's wide, open marshland, I'm pretty sure present company and I left _stifling_ in the rearview at least three and a half arguments ago. So yes, a city-wide buffer zone would do quite nicely.

Plus there's, you know, the whole _saving Tyler_ thing.

And yet…

"Uh-uh. Just because I overreacted a bit doesn't mean you're going to _guilt_ me into staying." What can I say? Old habits, and all that.

"No? Pity." Klaus' flippant tone matches mine. "Though not half as pitiful as Tyler's fate if that is your final decision."

I lift an eyebrow. "Oh really? That anxious to put your _masterpiece_ into action? Going to break out those medieval torture devices I know you've got stashed somewhere? Or are you going modern? Chainsaws or embarrassing tattoos more your forte?" Great, now I'm just feeding him ideas.

And Klaus looks nothing short of thrilled. Like a dog with a shiny new bone. "Oh sweetheart, you have no idea."

Shiver.

"I have _some_ idea," I insist.

"Most wouldn't be so glib about such a claim. Clearly I'm losing my touch."

"Yeah, clearly. Softie."

To my frustration, the jibe rolls off my tongue like some sort of lame schoolyard taunt. It even sounds (lord help me) vaguely flirty, a huge no-no in the Klaus Handler's Guidebook. Seriously, look it up. It's right beside 'don't mess with coffins containing dead-not-dead family members' and 'pray for a quick death if you so much as _think_ the name Katherine Pierce.'

His soft laughter fills the air before I can even contemplate damage control. "I've received many, many monikers over the centuries, but that one is definitely a first."

"Color me surprised," I mutter, and he chuckles again.

(Side note: Never thought I'd say this, but when it's not laced with diabolical intent, it's actually a rather pleasant sound. No, really.)

"Yes, well, finding one's _forte_, as you call it, took time. Practice. More than enough to garner a reputation for having particular expertise in… certain unseemly activities."

In case you were born yesterday, that's Klaus Code for violence. Gruesome, bloody violence.

Again: _shiver_.

"Some people might say you need a new hobby," I tell him, only half-joking.

"No doubt those same misfortunate souls who have first-hand knowledge of said expertise," he quips.

"Yeah, so much for losing your touch. They'd probably say your skills are _too_ good, actually." I don't miss the subtle curve of his mouth. "_Not_ a compliment, Klaus."

"Of course not," he says, smiling freely now. I shake my head, trying (and failing) to conceal my own.

Okay, time for a new therapist because clearly I am not getting my money's worth with my current one. None of this should be funny – hell, it's _not_ funny – and yet I practically have to bite my cheek to contain myself. It's almost enough to make me forget why we shouldn't be having this conversation in the first place. Why this slippery slope leads nowhere good.

But common sense seems to be on the back burner ever since I set out on this god-forsaken trip, so to hell with it, I laugh anyway, and judge me all you want, but let me tell you: this feeling, this release – it's an absolute _drug_. It's brief yet strong, weird yet wonderful all at once, and it takes me entirely too long to realize that this sensation is so foreign to me – and so _necessary _– because it's been eons since I had anything to laugh about at all. I mean, let's face facts. My life back home is a mess (biggest understatement _ever_); my future is so dim it's practically nonexistent; and this ridiculous no-man's-land bridging the two offers little more than temporary relief with a man who, frankly, shouldn't even occupy the same _sentence_ as the word 'relief.'

Depressing, no?

"You're more than welcome to give it a shot yourself," Klaus says, and there's something sobering in his voice.

I perk up instantly. "Excuse me?"

"Tyler's fate," he reminds me. His gaze sharpens the slightest bit; lingers a little too long to be comforting. "He wronged you, love. Surely you've thought about taking justice into your own hands?"

Oh jeez. Leave it to Klaus to turn a bit of teen drama into a Greek tragedy. And what did I tell you? Slippery slope, indeed.

"Yeah, right after I get back from helping Batman and Robin end the crime spree in Gotham." I roll my eyes. "I'm not naïve, Klaus. I know 'justice' is just your word for 'revenge' – " usually of the fatal variety, and rather counterproductive to my endgame " – and _hello_! I was obviously just kidding before. No Lorena Bobbitt treatment for the ex. Vampire with a conscience, remember?"

"Your eyes told a different story."

"You see what you want to see," I retort, borrowing his words from what feels like a lifetime ago. Already I feel my muscles tensing in familiar defiance, and it's enough to confirm my suspicions: that somewhere along the way we exited the playful banter freeway for far more serious country. Great. Here we go again.

"Oh, I don't know," Klaus muses. "It wouldn't be the first time I've witnessed your appetite for vengeance. You certainly had no qualms yielding to it while digging phantom splinters from my back." Nope, not bitter. Smug. Even… _impressed_.

_Shiv _– oh, forget it.

"Just because Tyler broke my heart doesn't mean I'm interested in ripping out his," I say with finality.

"A heart for a heart…" I catch the gleam of sharp canines as a wolfish grin splits his face. "I rather enjoy the poetry of that."

"I bet you do."

"Can you honestly say there isn't some part of you that agrees? Come now," Klaus chides at my scoff. "No lingering resentment for the Lockwood boy? No secret revenge fantasies buried beneath all that righteous indignation?" That's when his gaze turns piercing. "You can't fool me, Caroline." _There is a darkness in you._

The implication, the audacity, is what lights the spark. Something deep inside me simmers like hot coals: something never fully extinguished no matter how many fires I put out today, and capable of flaring back to life with the slightest provocation. And Klaus in any form is about a dozen flamethrowers shy of subtle. Like right now. And it just figures, you know? Not five minutes after we close the lid on Pandora's Box for the millionth time, even share a laugh or two over some harmless torture talk, he's gung-ho to crack the vault wide open again because surprise, surprise! I was right. Sabotage really is this guy's middle name.

Wonder what mine would be. Distraction? Traitor? Hybrid Harlot? Ooh, that one has a ring to it.

When my answer finally comes, it's as truthful as it is heated. "What I'm already doing to Tyler is more than punishment enough."

"And what exactly might that be?"

I motion between the two of us as if to say _duh_! "Have you forgotten we're negotiating his future as if he's some patch of land we both stuck a flag in?" I sigh. Deeply. "I asked you to _compel_ him, Klaus."

"Ah. That."

I frown at his dismissive tone. "Yes, _that_. He deserves better." Frankly, Tyler deserves his revenge with a cherry on top for everything (every_one_) he lost at the hands of his sire – an opinion I will wisely keep to myself. But whether by Klaus' intervention or mine, that scenario's just not in the cards. At least with my way there's still light at the end of his tunnel. Or so I keep telling myself.

Klaus crooks his head, his gaze roaming over me in a way that feels borderline intrusive. Like he's trying to unearth buried treasure. Or perhaps just give me a good eye-frisking. Wouldn't put it past him.

…Okay, seriously, why doesn't he just take a damn picture?

I open my mouth to say as much, but it's his voice I hear. "You truly believe that." He sounds utterly flummoxed.

Take a number, pal. "Um, believe _what_?"

Again with the probing stare. It's maddening, and for the entirety of its duration I receive nothing but traitorous gooseflesh and palpable silence. Unless you count the deafening sound of mental gears grinding away. "You truly believe that Tyler Lockwood deserves better than the reprieve you've already granted him. That his life's worth salvaging from the wreckage of your broken relationship. Why the leniency, love?" he asks pointedly. "I can't help but notice you really don't seem… How do I put this? Properly outraged over his betrayal."

For the record, when I requested a new shrink, this is _so_ not what I meant.

"Long car ride," I say stiffly. "Clears the mind." Not to mention the solid right hook at the end of it. Now _that_ therapy session is one hundred percent Caroline Approved.

Klaus doesn't buy my excuse for a second. "You know what I mean. In spite of how much he hurt you, you still believe he's worth saving." _Redeemable_. "Why?"

"Careful," I warn him. "You've done far more damage than Tyler ever did."

"A topic we've already covered in full today. This isn't about my sins anymore," Klaus declares, and I know further deflection is pointless. "This is about _his_. You opened that door just by being here, requesting my assistance. I am simply asking you to qualify your motivation."

I fold my arms; shift my weight. Now more than ever, I wish this conversation would just die die _die_. "Come on, Klaus. You know why."

"I'm not questioning your loyalty," he clarifies. "But one can't help but wonder what he's done to earn it when his defining action was tossing you aside."

Like a bellow, the words sweep through me and coax a flame from the coals. My fingertips bury themselves in flesh, spotting my arms with fleeting bruises. "Wow," I deadpan. "Tactless, much?"

"I'm just saying," Klaus goes on, no sign of losing steam. "You have a blind spot a mile wide when it comes to that traitorous mutt, and I have a right to know – "

I don't let him get any further. On top of everything else I've endured today, I refuse to stand here and listen to this latest rendition of _'small town boy, small town life'_ and how much better off I am without either. Please. That argument's as old as he is and as tired as I am. "First of all, no. You _don't_ have a right to know. And second: I get that you can't exactly be Switzerland here, but for the sake of my sanity, let's keep the Tyler-bashing to a minimum."

Klaus looks incredulous. "Sweetheart, that _is_ the minimum. Trust me."

I ignore him. "I mean, I get that he's hardly your favorite person. Boy, do I get that. He's not exactly mine either right now – "

"Then why save him?" he demands again, and that's when I leapfrog past 'smolder' and straight to 'Vesuvius.'

"Because I still care! God." Acute pain shoots along my scalp as my fingers tangle in the roots of my hair. Funny. I don't remember uncrossing my arms. "And you know," I surge on, "before you write him off like you always do, you might bother to find out _why_. Because if you can't understand his significance in my life, then what makes you think you can understand _me_?"

"That," Klaus replies, his voice unexpectedly soft, "is exactly why I'm asking."

Huh?

He leans forward, allowing me to better scrutinize his intentions, his honesty, but my brain's still swimming in a cocktail of surprise, confusion, and volcanic aftermath.

"Caroline."

I blink at him, still dazed, and blue eyes capture mine with a force I'm convinced should be illegal in all fifty states. But it's the way he uttered my name, tenderness and frustration and sincerity all rolled into one, that secures my undivided attention.

Automatically I brace myself for impact; no use trying to duck and cover. Different bone this time, yes, but same dog. Same outcome.

When Klaus speaks again, however, the predator is long gone. Instead the words fall from him tentatively, like an offering before an altar.

"Tell me… What is it about him?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Oh Klaus, asking the hard questions. I applaud you, sir. Although he got slightly side-tracked from his objective, didn't he? He's not the only one… Heh. More on that to come.

Not my favorite chapter, I must confess, but I simply could. Not. Edit. This. Anymore. Anyway, for all its flaws I like to think it's better than the radio silence I've been delivering lately. Here's hoping my next update won't take nearly so long. Part of what I've been doing on my (completely unintentional) hiatus is reworking the outline for the remainder of this story. I believe I mentioned I was going to be answering certain questions in this chapter, but turns out they actually won't be addressed until the next two chapters. That's right, _two_. I added one more, so this fic is set to have six chapters now instead of five. And yes, for those who are wondering, this is a short story, and for now I have no plans to change that. I hope to see everyone back for the final two chapters!

P.S. Have I mentioned how _amazing_ it feels to be posting again? :)


End file.
